


I'll Take You Home

by fiddleyoumust



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Related, First Kiss, M/M, YAGKYAS 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate's made a lot of mistakes in this war. Brad is the only one he doesn't want to undo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take You Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the YAGKYAS exchange on LJ. Written for goshemily on LJ. <3

Nate smugly walks toward Brad's Humvee. He feels lit up from the inside, excited about finally having achieved something in what -- so far -- has been a deployment that has consisted of a whole lot of incompetency and inefficiency.

"A present for you," Nate says, leaning into Brad's window. "LSA. I scammed some off some guys in RCT 1."

Brad takes the jar Nate's offering him, but Nate's eyes don't move from Brad's face. More than fixing the gun or showing of his recon skills by finding the impossible, Nate really just wants to see Brad's expression change from frustrated to happy.

Of course, Brad's face doesn't change. Nate should have expected this -- Brad's ability to remain poker faced even after he's won the damn game.

Nate has a second to feel disappointed before Brad speaks, and if his face wasn't everything Nate wanted it to be, the tone of his voice is -- teasing and sarcastic and maybe even a little flirty.

"Sir, not to get homoerotic about this, but I could kiss ya."

It's exactly the response Nate was looking for. He wants to give it back to Brad, but he suddenly feels hot. His face is burning up with a blush he hopes Brad can't see. Brad smirks, a smile that tells Nate he's not fooling anyone, that _Nate_ has given _Brad_ exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Nate huffs, rolls his eyes and turns away, his feet kicking up clouds of dirt as he makes a hasty retreat.

****

Nate doesn't remember his first impression of Brad. He doesn't even remember the first time they met.

"It was at Pendleton, Sir," Brad tells him.

Which Nate already knew. He just can't remember the details -- the first impressions.

"What did you think of me?" Nate asks.

He and Brad have this thing now. He can't really name it, any more than he can remember when it began. And maybe that's why he asked. He doesn't remember when not knowing Brad turned into knowing. Maybe if he can figure out when it started, he can figure out what the hell it is.

"Honestly?" Brad asks, sardonic smirk firmly in place. "I thought you looked like a jailbait-stripper who had decided to put on an officer's uniform for that night's performance."

Nate doesn't know whether to glare, grimace, or smile.

He does some strange combination of all three that probably leans more toward making him look constipated, rather than any of the three emotions he's actually feeling.

"I'm sorry I asked," Nate says.

Brad gives him that smirk again, there and gone before Nate can quite catch it. Over by the tents Ray shouts Brad's name.

Brad says, "I'm not," right before he turns and walks away.

****

After.

After the bridge.

After Pappy's been taken away, his foot bleeding through the bandages.

After the shrapnel in Stafford's thigh has been removed and the wound cleaned.

After Nate's debriefed and been briefed.

What he really wants is a drink. A nice strong whiskey.

Neat.

He smokes one of Q-Tip's cigarettes instead.

If this were another place -- or maybe just another time in this place -- Nate would be startled by Brad appearing suddenly out of the dark. In this time and place, Nate expects the unexpected, and, honestly, he thinks he knew Brad was coming all along.

Brad says, "That was impressive."

And he could mean anything. His literal words or _That was fucked_ or _What the hell were you thinking, getting out of your Humvee in the middle of a fire-fight?_

What Nate hears is something entirely different.

He looks at Brad and Brad takes a step closer.

"It's the adrenalin, Brad. You're not thinking clearly."

Brad's eyes follow the path of Nate's hand to his mouth. Brad watches him pull a drag from the cigarette.

"Can we just skip past the part where you tell me I don't want this?" Brad asks.

Nate exhales. The smell of tobacco gets lost amongst the other smells -- sweat and gun oil and diesel fuel.

"Maybe I don't want this."

Brad raises an eyebrow. Nate can barely see him in the dark. He takes another drag of the cigarette just to watch the light from the cherry play across Brad's face.

Brad steps closer. They're standing too close now. It's gone from looking like two people having a normal conversation to something more.

"You're a terrible liar," Brad says.

There are noises all around them -- people talking and eating and cleaning weapons. There is constant activity, but Nate feels like they're the only two people for miles.

"We can't."

Brad stands a little straighter. Not quite at attention, but different -- like Nate's given some kind of order that Brad knows he has to obey even if he doesn't want to.

“At least we're past pretending we don't want to," he says.

Nate says, "Brad," part longing and part warning.

Brad takes a step back. He looks out across the vehicles and the bustle of people getting ready to move on to the next clusterfuck.

"I really just came to say I'm glad you're all right," he says.

Nate's breath gets caught in his lungs. It takes him too long to force it out, so that Brad's already turned away and started back toward the rest of Bravo before Nate manages to say, "You too."

****

 _Hitman Actual to Hitman Two_

Despite the violence raging down in the city it's the sound of Schwetje's voice over Nate's comm that breaks the quite calm of the little hillside.

Nate argues with Schwetje until it's past the point of arguing -- until he's on the verge of disobeying a direct order, and then he unhooks his comm.

"They want me to be more aggressive," Nate says. "Send the men into this. For what? So I can come home with 21 men instead of 22? _For what_?"

Nate's tired. He's crossed so many lines he shouldn't have crossed. He's redrawn them, bent them to try and make sense of what he's doing here.

Brad feels like the biggest line of all.

Brad says, "I trust your judgment, sir."

It's the _sir_ that gets him. The _sir_ that makes him remember who he is and what he's capable of, even in this place where he feels like everything is falling apart.

But it's Brad's face, earnest under the firelight of a burning city that makes Nate remember what he's doing here.

"I can be wrong," Nate says.

He's not talking about Schwetje anymore. Somehow he feels like Brad gets it. He feels like he and Brad are always in the middle of some unspoken conversation, a start and stop that isn't fair to either one of them.

Nate says, "A platoon commander's situational awareness doesn't extend very far," and he hopes Brad hears, _I'm sorry_ instead.

"Far enough, sir," Brad says.

Nate looks at Brad, at the sharp plane of his face and his serious eyes and he sees what he wants to -- acceptance and forgiveness and maybe a kind of redemption for everything that Nate has done and everything he's failed to do.

Nate can be wrong, but he hopes not about this. Nate is Brad's lieutenant and Brad is Nate's team leader, but they won't always be here in this fucking place.

Nate is going to make sure they all make it home.

****

At the cigarette factory, Nate takes stock. He breathes deep and catalogs all of their faces in his mind -- his men.

His brothers.

Doc talks about their failures, and Nate can't argue with his point. They did fail, all of them, in their own way. But they're all alive, and Nate can count that as a kind of success.

Tony says, "The priest told me it's not a sin to kill if you don't enjoy killing. My question is whether indifference is the same as enjoyment."

Nate swore he would get them out of here alive, but getting them home whole is beyond him.

"All religious stuff aside," Brad says. "Those who can't kill will always be subject to those who can."

Here at the end, Brad is finally enjoying his jalapeno cheese on crackers. There's a relaxed callousness about him that Nate's always been fascinated by -- that Iceman facade that Nate wants to peel back and look beneath.

Across the room, Lilly calls for the men to come and watch his movie. One by one they drift over until it's just Brad and Mike left standing with Nate. Nate can't help the way he looks at Brad. He's never been able to help it. It's times like this he's glad Mike is with him to keep him from doing anything stupid.

He nods at Brad and gets up, Mike following after him.

Being in a cigarette factory hasn't been good for Nate's attempt at quitting. Tobacco is hard to come by in theater. It was easy to just shove that desire aside, like the desire to bathe and sleep in clean sheets and take a shit in a place with plumbing. Smokes are plentiful now and Nate wants to smoke.

Brad finds him. Nate doesn't wonder anymore how he always manages to do that. It's what Brad is trained for.

"You don't look like a smoker," Brad says.

Nate opens his mouth to ask what Brad thinks he _does_ look like.

Brad kisses him before he can draw breath. His mouth is hot and spicy from his jalapeno cheese. It tastes strange mixed with the taste of tobacco on Nate's own tongue. Brad pulls back. He looks Nate in the eye -- searching for something.

They're in a hallway where anyone could walk by. Most of Bravo is still watching Lilly's movie, but there are other people who could see, and this is more dangerous to both of them than all the gun fire in Bagdad.

"We shouldn't do this here," Nate says.

He means for them to find some other place -- to go somewhere dark and quiet where they can hide and add this to the long list of fucked-up things they should have done differently. Nate's so tired of trying to do what's right and coming up empty-handed. He wants Brad. He thinks he might need him.

Brad says, "We won't always be here."

Brad's mouth is a flat line, so Nate looks at his eyes instead. Nate joined the Marines for a lot of reasons, but Nate can admit now that Brad is really the only reason he wants to stay. There's been so much focus on getting through each day that Nate's forgotten to think about the future.

"I'm not going to renew my contract," Nate says.

Brad doesn't seem fazed. His features don't change at all.

"What will you do next?"

"I don't know," Nate says. "Maybe go back to school. Boston. I always liked school."

Saying it out loud feels like goodbye.

Nate's always hated good-byes.

Neither one of them moves. Nate reaches into his pocket for another cigarette, lights it, exhales.

"I've never been to Boston," Brad says. "What's it like?"

"Pretty. Cold in the winter. Lots of tress."

"Sounds terrible," Brad says.

Nate laughs and it feels good -- normal.

"I don't know. It has its perks," Nate says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a helicopter starting up on the other side of the factory. The sun is sinking lower by the minute. Tomorrow they'll start the long journey home.

Brad says, "Maybe I'll stop by some time. You can show me around."

Nate smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. He brushes his knuckles over the back of Brad's hand.

"Yeah," Nate says. "I'd like that."


End file.
